Our Lady Of Sorrows
by xx-Twisted Fantasy-xx
Summary: Gale finds out the true meaning of immortality. Part Un of my Demolition Lovers arc.


**Disclaimer: I do not own The Huger Games, nor do I have the rights to this song.**

**This is in Gale's POV about Madge after he finds out she's dead. It sort of hints at a quasi-romance between the two.**

* * *

><p>He can't look away from it, as much as he wants to, he simply can't.<p>

The camera pans over the remains of District 12, the faces of the dead fading into the background. The names drifting across the shot. None of them make him feel particularly _sad_. He doesn't mourn every single loss like it is his own—somebody else could bear that weight, he was already heavy enough on his own.

But then. . . his heart skips a beat.

He knows.

No, he _knew_. Past-tense.

He just didn't know it would hurt this much.

Seeing her reflection in the ruins of a place he once called home, it hits him like a bullet in his stomach. But. . . but. . . he isn't supposed to care—not truly. Not _really. _What he feels—no, _felt_—about her is—_was_—conditional. He remembers it too clearly for it to be anything but. . .

_**We could be perfect one last night**_

He looks at her—really looks at her for the first time since they started this thing, and he notices something vaguely familiar, and he doesn't like it. She doesn't know what it's like—the sensation of hurting is something she knows absolutely nothing about. Not. A. Thing.

She is Lucky.

He is Determined.

And, somehow, he can't help but criticize her for it. Even though she didn't choose this life for herself, it's bad enough that she possesses it in the first damn place.

But he can't forget it; that small flash of pain he sees in her eyes as she watches her friend battling to the death. And what makes it worse is the fact that she isn't as bad as he once thought—yeah, he knows that he can't ever tell _her_ that.

And that's when it starts.

He goes there with strawberries expecting to receive payment, and he comes back empty-handed, a brand-new routine in it's place.

_**And die like star crossed lovers when we fight**_

When the schedule is established enough, he feels he can make a few remarks about the Walking Targets.

She immediately takes offense to this.

They are people—humans even, or so she claims.

He counters with a witty, yet still honest remark, only one person needs to come back, and they both know it.

She reminds him that number doubled as of the previous night.

And then. . . they begin to fight.

Her father comes into the room, a flustered look on his round face.

He still recalls the words the man spoke:

"You two argue like a married couple."

_**And we can settle this affair  
>If you would shed your yellow<br>Take my hand and then. . . **_

It's the Final Day.

They sit in her living room, in front of the television. He glances at her every so often, her eyes are wide and her face is surprisingly pale, though her cheeks are flushed. She is worried, scared that District 12 won't have _any_ victors this year—let alone two. Without thinking, he reaches over and takes her hand, which is covered in sweat. On an impulse, he quickly presses his lips to her forehead, only to see if it is comforting for the both of them.

It sort of is.

She looks at him, but only for a second.

That girl knows where her thoughts need to be, she needs to _stay focused_.

He goes back to watching the Ending Scene. He thinks he's just about prepared for anything—he did just watch Cato from District 2 get torn limb from limb from face and arms and toes and humanity, after all. And anyway, he is well aware of who he is, and he deals with the toughest of things every day. He thinks he can handle the way Katniss (The Girl On Fire) watches Peeta Mellark (Dough Boy) and he thinks he can stand knowing that she loves the Bread Boy before she even realizes it herself.

He doesn't know how Dead Wrong he actually is.

_**We'll solve the mystery of laceration gravity  
>This riddle of revenge<br>Please understand that it has to be this way and**_

Just before the train pulls into District 12, he drops off another basket of strawberries at her house. He figures this will be a good time to set the record straight. Hanging out with her on a daily basis isn't an option anymore, his weekdays are devoted to living in the hell that are the Coal Mines now, Sundays are for (The Girl On Fire) no longer known as Katniss.

She gets it.

He doesn't even have to say a word.

She says two:

"Happy Birthday."

_**Stand**_

He doesn't leave right away, he can't even open his mouth to tell her thank you. He just. . . stands. . . there. Time moving ten times slower than it actually should._  
><em>_**  
>Up fucking tall<strong>_

She stays at the door, watching him with a regal expression on her face.

Like she is way too good for him, even despite the warm birthday wishes.

He doesn't yet know that her mask of royalty hides her pain.

_**Don't let them see your back and  
>Take<br>My fucking hand**_

He walks a w a y. . .

_**And never be afraid again  
>We've only got one chance to put things at an end<br>And cross the patron saint of switchblade fights**_

The Quarter Fucking Quell ruins everything, not that it wasn't already broken. The Seventy-fifth Hunger Games rips his best friend away from him yet again. She is forced into the moniker that is Katniss&Peeta again, only this time, she isn't really forced. He can see that. God, can he see that. He can also see that she isn't knocked up, but that's probably another story for another day.

He realizes this while sitting on her couch.

_**You said  
>We're not celebrities<strong>_

They both confide in each other that they both secretly wish they could make a bigger impact on Panem—like Katniss&Peeta.

_**We spark and fade**_

But a rebellion led by Madge&Gale will die out before it even begins.

_**They die by threes**_

One by one, the victors fall.

They watch with thinly veiled horror and disgust.

They can't do a single thing about it.

_**I'll make you  
>Understand<br>And you can trade me for an apparition**_

When Katniss blows the arena up, he is not with her. He is with Prim, and he brings her and her frazzled mother on a hovercraft headed for the not-so-destroyed District 13—where non-communist dreams come true. Where they will—hopefully—be safe.

**_Stand_  
><em>Up fucking tall<em>**

He leaves her there—standing tall and regal and not-at-all brave—to face her death.

_**Don't let them see your back and  
>Take<br>My fucking hand**_

He never finds out that she wishes he were there to hold her hand just one last time—because no one else would.

_**And never  
>Trust<br>You said, who put the words in your head**  
><strong>Oh, how wrong we were to think<br>That immortality meant never dying**_

It's now that he realizes his Dead Wrongness, sitting in District 2, alone and haunted. He can't believe he forgot her now, no matter how fragile their friendship was. He should have known she could be broken (destroyed by fire). He _should have would have could have_ saved her. Maybe then. . . certainly then—he couldn't question that—he wouldn't be feeling so horribly empty. He needs Madge Undersee to be whole again and he will never get her back.

The monsters he had been keeping at bay for the last month finally start to eat him alive.


End file.
